Ka-ZAAM! Now all the scripted shows and documentaries (as well as all PBS and cable TV programming) suck even more, meaning that in relative terms, your wish has been granted.
I wish I had an immediate and intuitive understanding of all juvenile slang whenever I hear it (which would be no more than often than I do already).
It is done, but the genie was confused about your grammar, so now each new definition you receive repeats itself over and over until a new one comes around.
I wish that Manhattan was on a clear grid south of 14th Street.
Manhattan is now a clear grid south of 14th street, and all of those streets are now square blocks. All the street names have been changed to A, B, C, and 1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc. All businesses and buildings have been relocated to fit the square grid, along with the actual shape of the land.
However. This re-arrangement applies to the way you, and only you, perceive south Manhattan. Which means all directions, addresses, and other location information created, formatted, or used by everyone else is not applicable to your world-view. Sorry, but it was easier to distort your individual reality than affect, retro-actively, actual reality.
I wish that breaking turkey wishbones worked for real wishes.
They do. However, you won’t find out how your wish has been corrupted until Thanksgiving. The high anxiety of waiting to see how badly awry it will go gives you a heart attack which kills you the night before Thanksgiving.
I wish no one would ever offer me candied yams again.
They stop offering you candied yams. Instead due to a weird medical deficiency, you suddenly find they are the only food you can eat safely.
I wish that California would get the same weather as Manchester
Done. Now, due to some freak microenvironmental interactions the whole state of California, and the City (but only the City) of Manchester experience Death Valley weather, in all it’s glorious excesses.
I wish people would stop complaining about how chilly this spring has been.
When the Sun goes supernova, all complaints of a chilly spring are instantly forgotten.
I wish I didn’t have this head cold.
Then you shall have this head warm instead. It is now operating at a nice warm 120°F.
Is that ok, or would you like it warmer?
I wish I had tickets to the European Cup Final in Moscow, along with complimentry hotel and spending money, and make it safely there and back.
Done. Too bad about the inexplicable, temporary blindness and deafness that afflicted you just before you left, and didn’t clear up until the day after you return home.
I wish to be remembered by humanity forever as a wonderful guy.
The 5 or so of us who manage to escape your murderous genocide programs will certainly think of you forever as a wonderful guy for not killing us.
I wish for Big Brown to win the Triple Crown.
It is the last day of the season as the big colt steps to the plate in the 9th. He currently leads David Ortiz in home runs (44 to 42) and RBIs (137 to 131), and is in a virtual tie with Ichiro Suzuki in batting average, just barely behind (.34775 to .34789), so he needs a hit in this final AB to win the Triple Crown. Here’s the pitch from Joba Chamberlain…and it’s a sharp single through the SS/3B hole, and Big Brown wins the Triple Crown as he trots around the bases!
I wish that idiots who tailgate me in heavy traffic would get bamboo shoots stuck underneath their fingernails. Esp. those who tailgate me for 3 blocks, only to turn into a side street (what the f*** was your ****ing hurry then?).
As you have bidden, your minions stick bamboo shoots up the fingernails of those who tailgate you. When they’re caught and charged with felonious assault, torture and kidnapping, they all point to you as the source of their orders. You’d better get yourself a good lawyer.
I wish everyone understood that Han shot first.
Granted. Everyone in the world finds the wiki page, like I did, and gains an understanding of what you’re talking about. George Lucas gets wind of this, is upset because everybody’s belief flies in the face of his explanation that Han didn’t shoot first. He hunts you down and, though nobody knows who shot first, you end up dead.
I wish Tom Robinson didn’t have to die.
Granted. He’s not dead, but he is…UNDEAD. Zombie Tom Robinson lumbers up from the grave to feast upon the brains of his old foe, Tom Ewell. Calamity ensues.
I wish I could have a real Versace dress.
You do. The store then charges you with shoplifting. You’re convicted and imprisoned. You wonder if it was worth it all for the dress, which you can’t wear in the joint anyway.
I wish prisons and jails actually reformed all those incarcerated within them, turning them into productive, law-abiding, non-addicted, well-adjusted members of society.
The ex-cons are rehabbed and released, and promptly take the jobs of all people who have posted in this thread. And we know where you live.
I wish to mount an expedition to find the G Spot.
Granted! Shame that “mounting” an expedition doesn’t mean you’re ON it. Your team sure thanks you, though!
And let’s clean up some ungranteds from previously in the thread…
Granted! Sure, it’s coming out of your nose 24/7, but at least you have good friends.
Granted! 'Course, they have zero calories because they’re completely insubstantial, devoid of taste, mass, or nutrition.
Granted! Of course, your mileage will vary, depending on where you live. In some areas, the realism becomes so boring that no one will go to those films, causing a huge surge in Rob Schneider movies. In others, the realism is so intense that ethnic/religious/racial hatreds flare up, causing civil wars the world over. Naturally, they get off easy compared to the former group.
I wish that there were no more malevolent forces in the world, including those that grant wishes.
Granted! There are no malevolent forces. There are no benevolent forces. The only thing left is indifference, apathy and neglect.
I wish the Democratic Party would finally get behind either Clinton or Obama.
After flipping a coin, the entirety of the Democratic Party takes to the streets, with picthforks, torches, barrels of hot tar, and feather pillows, to chase either Clinton or Obama across the nation, as a team-building exercise to restore unity to the party.
I wish the local college kids would stop having drunken revelries in the middle of the street at 3 AM.
Granted–they’ll be drunk and debauched at 5 in the morning instead–right outside your house.
I wish I had a talking parrot named Ernest.